The Wild Circle

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The Wild Circle

Spaces for ritual, reflection and connection. Women's circles in Gloucestershire and online. That beauty is access to joy.

I believe in beautiful spaces for women to come together in safety and solidarity, to find sanctuary and soulful connection as often as they need it. I trained in circle facilitation with Sister Stories, and believe in their mission - that ‘going to circle’ should become as commonplace for women as going to yoga. I believe in the importance of slowing down and connecting with yourself and your community of sisters. I believe we need ritual in our lives, something that signals to our minds and bodies that it is time to stop, to reflect, to be curious and open. I believe we all deserve the chance to spend time in the presence of beauty. That we all deserve to make time for joy. I believe in being inspired by the words and stories of others, that all women, all over the world, all have a story to share and something to teach us.

31/01/2026

Last year, my sister and I both read 's book There Are Rivers In The Sky. We both loved it. Because we love everything single word she writes. Our shared love of her work began with Black Milk and has only deepened with each book. Halfway through reading Rivers, inspired by the tattoo artist character and the way Shafak conveyed the beauty of ancient Sumerian - the oldest written language/alphabet in the world - I suggested to Laura we both got a tattoo, something that meant something to us both. A year later, and we found a way to weave all these things together. A tattoo that says 'sister' in cuneiform, which we got done on what would have been our baby sister's 40th birthday. It was amazing. is an absolute bona fide angel who honoured the meaning behind our tattoo with such kindness and skill. Another step along the crazy world of loss and rediscovering ourselves, and finding the rituals that mark loss and rememberance in ways that feel real and true.

❤️ ❤️

09/01/2026

I have never found a good way to mark the anniversary of a death. Probably because there isn't a good way. It's just a day really. They're still dead the day before and will still be dead the day after. Death is forever. Grief doesn't live in the neat or scheduled places. How do we mark this hideous milestone that only serves to remind us how much time has passed since the world split in two? The time before, the time after.

I've tried going away, but I felt disconnected from place, from memory, untethered somehow. I've tried being alone but I just felt lost and sad. Sometimes you can't force these things. Or try to make them feel any different. You need to weave these moments into your existence somehow.

My mother died on 4 January. There is no getting away from the fact that it hovers over Christmas, and looms into the new year. It just is what it is. We continue to live and thrive and grow and evolve. And celebrate. And so, her death anniversary needs to become in some way a part of this yearly tradition. And so, we weave her in.

This year, after a conversation with my lovely husband about little ways to mark big things, we came up with our own family 'Mummy death ritual' - something that honoured her and her little ways, and yet was also part of our ongoing lives.

When my sister was alive, my mum always kept the slice that was sawn off the trunk of her Christmas tree as a memento, writing my sister's name and the year on it. I'm not sure why, but she did. And I've always remembered it. This year, I did the same, and kept it on a shelf above the Aga to dry out. Then on the 4 January, we lit the firepit, gathered a huge pile of branches from our own Christmas tree, poured out the last of the Christmas sherry, and stood in the frosty garden, burning our tree and this year's tree slice to the fire. The children ran about, burnt some branches, disappeared off, and we stood together, happily warming ourselves on the flames and watching this little disc slowly burn to ash.

It was beautiful, and seasonal, slow, and quite ordinary really. Just a moment in our larger lives to remember, honour, connect.

25/11/2025

I missed an appointment this morning due to mundane school drama and rural town 'traffic chaos'. Finding myself with a spare hour, I went to see my mum and sister. And, how I wish that looked different to what it is in reality....

Somehow in so many ways, the loss just gets bigger and bigger.

On the way there, I bravely drove past my mum's house, remembering how many mornings I'd pull up outside her front door, and unload a car of excited, sticky, chaotic children who would run into her arms and sink into her softness with happy sighs. And she would make me a coffee and sit me in 'my' chair at her kitchen table, and I'd download the latest minutiae from my life, give her a quick hug, finish my coffee, and head home, the children barely waving me goodbye as they climbed aboard her seemingly ever-ready lap for cuddles, stories, safety.

And as I stood at the grave, looking at the years that have passed since my sister died - I was struck by how much loss is held on this stone. Half my family, gone in a year. Both times shocking, unexpected, horribly fast.

There was peace there too. The sunlight on the stone, the beautiful words honouring those who rested below. It felt good to be there. But then, eventually, you must turn and walk away, leaving it behind. Stepping somehow from one world into another. Everytime another sense of loss, another little death.

No way to wrap this caption up with neat words or profound reflections on life and death. I miss them. Endlessly. Always. I carry that loss around with me. Huge and heavy still. Perhaps more hidden, less obvious than it used to be, but no less enormous, no less felt. No less felt.

14/11/2025

Deeply wintering today. Started with early morning yoga, and now I'm curled into a cosy chair, warmed by the aga, with the rain pouring down outside, tinkering with some client work while listening to the beautiful sessions from the Lifting the Lid Festival - a global online festival exploring death, dying and grief. Absolutely loving Dallas Black's discussion on 'The Art of Dying' journeys through death, ritual and design. I feel so blessed that I get to craft days like this, that blend work, rest and restorative moment of calm.

11/11/2025

Close the year softly and intentionally - retreat to the woods to reconnect with what matters, with what nourishes you. Fill your cup with friendship and community, women, words, wonder - share stories and food around the fire, be held in tenderness and compassion, met exactly where you are. Breathe in the scent of wood smoke, loamy earth and sweet pine, hear birdsong, the wind through the leaves, the wisdom of women. Walk amongst the trees, put your feet on the soil, come home to yourself.

This is your last chance to be in the woods with us this year...

10/11/2025

Wisdom from my inbox. Cheryl Strayed is one of my favourite writers and this puts into words everything I think about living into the seasons, welcoming the dark as much as the light and trusting the circular nature of things, the need to dig in, root down, descend into the darkness, in order that we can grow. Trust the slowing down of your life, let the darkness in.

If you feel the need to gather and descend on community then there are two ways to reconnect this November - my monthly women's circle next Tuesday evening, 7:30 pm near Cirencester, and then Ground & Gather, in the woods 29 November - a day to return to the wild village, shared experience, compassion, rest, nourishment, love, around the fire.

A few spaces left for both - book online, link in bio

06/11/2025

"Oh woman, remember who you are, woman, it is the whole earth." (Joy Harjo) Obsessed with this sculpture I came across today by the incredibly talented which featured in an exhibition in Detroit in the summer entitled 'Of the earth'.

Everything about 'Ona' seems to evoke all the feelings that emerged in circle last night - that need to dig into the soil, to stretch out our tendrils far and wide, to root down deep in the earth, to nestle, hibernate, burrow, surrender - to reconnect with that idea what we come from the earth and we can return there when we need to.

Wintering feels like it is upon us and, as the darkness descends, I find I am gratefully ready to soften and slow, to stay in, to turn off, tune out.

And it struck me last night what a beautiful month November is to be able to do this - almost in preparation for a December of love and connection, of warmth and joy. We can allow space for something else first - letting in what feels hard and heavy, acknowledging it, sitting with it, holding ourselves in the silence, breathing deep into the wounds that we carry.

In this way, we compost our internal soil, the landscape of our soul, letting pain, loss, tiredness and tenderness move through us, listening to the signs that tell us it is time to slow down, to honour all the facets of our lives, the dark and light, to howl and hide, and sleep and soothe.

Because this too shall pass, the darkness, will clear, and when it does, we can step into a new month softly, lightly, lovingly.

Happy wintering my loves.
♥️

23/09/2025

Season of the Soul... this time of year, I feel so undone and turned inside out. As the heat of summer fades and we all fall back into routine there's a shifting sense of endings, loss - a desire to burrow deep and catch our breath.

So do that. Come. Catch your breath. With me. And twelve other incredible women. This Saturday. In beautiful ancient woodland near Cirencester. There will be hot tea and shared meals around the fire, meditations, woodland wandering, hammock lazing, a dance to witness between the trees, and space. So much space to be heard, seen, met with whatever feels heavy or hard, whatever is big and beautiful, whatever is special and sacred. If it matters to you, if it needs to be voiced, there is space here for that.

12-6pm, 27 September, £68 - includes all food and drinks

05/09/2025

A full week of getting back into our current circle facilitation training - which continued last night with a session by the amazing on anger. It felt so good to honour the power of this emotion and to remember that our raw, shattered, open, imperfect, curious hearts are what we are really here for, what are really holding space for, and what is most deeply welcomed and truly seen in circle. We don't give advice in circle, we don't try to make the hard things easier, we don't offer comment, opinion or solutions. We honour what is broken, and the courage it takes to bring that pain and truth into the space. And by doing this we make others feel seen, witnessed, valid and held, in all their messy, imperfect humanity.

Circles this month - 23 September, Tuesday evening, 7:30-9pm at my home and the. 27 September, in Hailey Woods, 12-6pm - a deep woodland day to root, return, remember.

All details on my website

29/08/2025

How different would the world be if this was our reality? If two human beings could each see themselves in the person sitting across from them. If we could recognise that their humanity is in no way 'less' than our humanity.

For me, this is the kind of space that circle makes possible. Somewhere that all the stuff that comes up about other people disappears when we meet each other in a way that is crafted and created to hold only compassion, community and connection.

I have been away from this space for the summer. Expanding into a different rhythm, time with my children, time for my other work. It's has been needed. And it feels good to be gathering these parts of myself back in now. To see ahead the circles and spaces I have been creating all year.

In September, I'll hold space with for the second of our deep woodland days for women. Rich and grounding, these spaces are invitation to gather as women, and to root into the woodland space around us. It is a true return to nature - transformative and powerful, yet also tender, soft and slow.

There are a few spaces left. I'd love for you to be there with us.

27 September, 12-5:30pm, £68 - includes all lunch, snacks and drinks.

17/07/2025

The grief of an ending. Walking into church for a Leavers' Service this morning - lump in my throat, heaviness in my heart. Three children leaving a school tomorrow that they have loved so much and which has been in all our lives for over a decade. At times a very turbulent decade. This is a change that will be good for us all. I know this. But it doesn't mean the ending isn't hard, that closing this chapter doesn't feel sad. It doesn't make it wrong. But it doesn't make it easier either. This is of course, a relatively small grief, amidst all the shattering, enormous, raw griefs of the world. And perhaps, there's gratitude for that too. It's a privelege to be able to have a choice to make, and something to grieve. It's a privelege to be able to give space to a small, tender ending and let it move through us all. It's a privelege to hold my daughter as her face crumples at the realisation that she is going to miss her teacher so very, very much. A privelege to be able to honour that journey for her. That ending for her. To have the time and space and safety to be there for her. And so, this grief is a gift - and in this moment I'm holding that thought close.

❤️

15/07/2025

Circle tonight - couple of spaces left. A slowing down amidst the gathering of the season into the height of summer. I don't know about anyone else, but things feel like they're galloping at an increasing pace around me, and I am relishing the opportunity to stop, take a sacred pause, reflect, recalibrate, return to softness. Circle starts 7:30pm, at my home near Cirencester, book your space at the link in my bio

Address

Daglingworth
Cirencester

Website

https://www.thewildcircle.space/

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